The Stuff of Novels
by elliejelliebean
Summary: Elizabeth Bennet's romance is the stuff of novels. It is epic, beautiful, and heartbreakingly romantic. Is it possible, even for one as good as Jane, not to envy her? Jane's thoughts before the wedding, Regency One-Shot


**A/N: Happy one-shot! I hope that you all enjoy my character study of Jane Bennet and please, please review! **

The Stuff of Novels

There is nothing that warms my heart more than seeing my dear sister Lizzy look into the eyes of Fitzwilliam Darcy. If I had to choose but one thing to look at for my entire life, it would be her love-struck countenance as he caught her eyes during one of the painful dinner parties my mother threw for all of us during our courtship.

You may be wondering why I wouldn't choose an image that had something to do with my own love affair, like my betrothed's face as _he_ looked at _me_.

But looking into his eyes, I see more…admiration, I think, than overwhelming love. He admires my beauty and he likes to spend time with me. I admire his good nature and I like to spend time with him. We love each other—really, we do.

But we love each other differently than Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam. Charles and I respect each other, enjoy each other's company, and want to be together.

For my sister and her fiancé, it's like a compulsion. They _have_ to be together. They respect each other so much it's almost worshipful; they crave the sound of each other's voices.

Lizzy would say that our loves are equal, or that we love our fiancés _differently_. But I know that hers is the greater love. It is an accepted truth, for me.

It is evidenced simply by Charles and Fitzwilliam's respective behavior. Fitzwilliam found a way to be with my sister despite everything that he had ever known forbidding it. Elizabeth found a way to be with him despite the very real, very intense hatred that she harbored towards him for so long.

Charles was dissuaded from being with me by one conversation with close friends.

One may attribute this to differences in temperament, or something of that sort, and I am sure that this is not irrelevant.

But I am not fooled. Charles does not love me like Fitzwilliam loves Elizabeth.

And I am sure that, no matter how happy Charles makes me, I have never, _ever_, looked so taken as my dear sister always does, these days.

The wedding is in one week. I have absolutely no doubt that I am making the correct choice, no doubt at all. Charles is the one for me. I will never find someone so perfectly suited to my temperament.

But I admit it will be a little bit hard, getting married next to my sister, who will, I am sure, be able to very honestly tell people that it was the happiest day of her life. I will say the same, but I will probably be telling a bit of a falsehood. It will be a happy day, but not the very happiest, for me. I am guessing that my happiest day will be when my child is born, or something of that sort.

People wonder if I envy my sister. I can see it in their eyes.

If Mr. Bingley looks at me with love, then Mr. Darcy looks at Elizabeth with undying adoration and passion. If Mr. Bingley has 5,000 a year, Mr. Darcy has 10,000. If the tale of Jane Bennet's whirlwind romance would be told for decades, Elizabeth Bennet's would be told for centuries.

The answer is that I do not envy her. Really, truly, I don't. Trust me—I don't lie unless it is about something like my happiness on my wedding day.

To "envy" implies a certain amount of resentment. It is a feeling that, if I possessed it, would lessen my capability to be completely and totally happy for my sister. I don't envy her.

Do I dream about someone loving me like Mr. Darcy does Elizabeth? Yes. Sometimes, in those moments before sleep during which our thoughts are least controlled by our brains, I dream of a man that loves me in such a way. I wish for it; I do.

But in the light of day, I see the rarity of their love. I never expected such a thing for myself and I do not now. I don't envy her—I am glad for her. Her love makes me truly happy.

The felicity of others has always heightened my own. When a loved one is happy, I am too. And by that principle, the happiness that I will experience just from Lizzy's felicity alone should be enough to sustain me for my entire life.

My happiness for my sister coupled with the happiness that my Dear Charles brings me will be enough for me, forever. It will be enough that my dreams about a love like Lizzy's will be completely forgotten. I will not envy her, ever.

Her romance is the stuff of novels and bedtime stories and fairy tales. I am a minor character in her story, the girl who we are all happy for without really paying much attention to.

And I am okay with that. Really.


End file.
